


Living for Two

by GawkyGhostie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandonment, Abuse, Action, Angels, Angst, Blood, Chases, Complete, Demons, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fights, Gen, Hellhounds, Light Horror, Non-Consensual Touching, Nonbinary Character, OC, Original Character(s), Original Nonbinary Character(s) - Freeform, Original work - Freeform, Ownership, Rituals, Supernatural - Freeform, Underage - Freeform, Violence, but it is an adult and a minor so fair warning with that, magical universe, mostly focusing on action and Feelings, not a good time going on here beware, nothing crazy squeemish, nothing overly explicit with the underage aspect just energy stealing kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25490368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GawkyGhostie/pseuds/GawkyGhostie
Summary: Dot has yearned for freedom all their life, to be released from their captor's clutch on their very existence, to experience the world outside the underground they call home. And on their thirteenth birthday, Dot achieves everything they've always dreamed of at the cost of everything that matters most.More OC work! A piece that will leave some questions without further context. Not something to read if you're seeking good vibes. Lots of emotional trauma.
Relationships: Dot Pennington(oc) and Baxter Murray(oc), Dot Pennington(oc) and Bea Smith(oc)





	Living for Two

**Author's Note:**

> More Dot content! This is something I've wanted to write or draw for a while now; it's an integral part of Dot's lore and a pivoting point in their life. Some of this is sure to not make complete sense without more context, but I plan on writing companion pieces that will hopefully shed some light on the situation. Thanks for reading!

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

Thumbs fiddle with themselves, tossing and turning in circles alongside bitten nails in a lap draped in alabaster cloth. Unsure of where to place their weight, of where they belong, but absolutely certain that they cannot bear to rest. It’s hushed in the modest space of their bedroom save for the clicking of the clock on the wall above their door, and though the silence isn’t out of the ordinary, its weight in this moment applies an almost unbearable pressure. Time moves agonizingly slow as they wait, hunched over on the edge of their mattress with back arched and long hair cloaked about their figure like a willowy veil, and violet hues stare at the idle, agitated movement of their own fingers along their thighs, out of focus and distant.

_Tick. Tock._

The youth bites their lower lip, mouth terse as they glance their head ever so slightly upwards, a light strand of hair shifting over their face as it falls and curves. They nearly grimace as they stare at ticking hands gliding along the surface of the clock, inching themselves at a snail’s pace that leaves them restless, toes digging into the floor beneath them. Hardly a few minutes have passed since they last peered at the timepiece, and Dot flinches at that grueling reality - only for their head to tilt mildly downwards once again, white locks shadowing their expression anew. This is awful. The worst moment of their life, just. _Waiting_ here like this. Idle, unable to do anything except bide the passing of the minutes until their time arrives. Royal hues dart to the darkest corner of the room, body still as dull eyes shift. The space is empty and unoccupied. Lips tug into their own gentle frown at that, orbs liding halfway into an almost grievous longing. No, no - they know it’s not there, of course. They _know_. But still, in a moment like this, part of them can’t help but wish it was here with them. It’s disheartening, the spacious view, even though they knew it would be. They miss the creature. Miss their friend.

_Tick. Tock._

Better not to dwell on that right now. Orbs fall back to their thumbs, now slightly numb from constant motion. Their head dares to lift slightly once more to the clock on the wall, but they stop themselves, freezing in place and exhaling in their own anxious frustration. Too soon, definitely too soon. It’s barely been a few minutes since they - no, it hasn’t even been a few minutes. It hasn’t even been a full minute. How much longer must they linger here alone? It can’t take much longer, surely. _Hopefully_. Yet they fear the knocking on their door that’s sure to come all the same. What they’d give to be free of this limbo, this crippling nervousness of anticipating what’s to come, yet they dread its end in knowing that with it comes the beginning of something, far, far _worse_. One moment to another, one instance to the next, the first step in a preordained series of many that will force them to tread further and further downwards into the dark until they’re unable to find their way out again.

_Tick. Tock._

Eyes shift once more, body stark still as orbs turn instead to the left, glimpsing through glowing hair. Their reflection stares back at them in turn from the vanity across the room, distant but luminous. Resplendent and sublime, if not meek in stature. A true embodiment of elegance and allure for this special day, lashes full and dark, eyes shadowed in color, hair done in soft curls and graces that caress their full, blushed cheeks. White dress flowing with tulle and lace that traces their best features, complimenting them, an expensive gown artistically tailored and gifted to them for this night at Baxter’s undeniable behest. A passerby would easily revel in their refined delicacy, beauty profound and captivating - mistake them for a bride-to-be, even, were it not for their young age. But the forlorn, weighted face staring back at them, mesmerizing as it is, brings them no comfort. Lips tremble as they flinch their eyes away. They swallow thickly.

_Tick. Tock._

Even thumbs grow impatient. Their speed increases as does their range, pulling forward and adjusting to grasp at their own hands while fingers twist and tug among themselves, bone jutting against bone in rough, pressured motions. One hand tugs at another, fingers entwined as they squeeze harshly and pull back and forth, the pressure of the motion welcome as they switch between their palms. Royal orbs land on their hands, yet they don’t settle, staring through their actions rather than at them as they allow themselves to drift. Mindless, yet mindful. Thoughts turning in their head of what’s to come. They know the motions. It was explained to them, after all - rehearsed, even, like stage practice before the main event, as if it was all just some simple play performance and not actually the forfeiting over of their entire existence. Just thinking about it is enough to make them sick, enough to make their stomach squeeze and churn uncomfortably to the point they fear they might actually grow ill. Fingers tug near painfully on themselves. Don’t - don’t. Don’t dwell on that. It’s not going to happen. _It’s not going to happen_. You know what to do. You know the steps. Rehearse those instead, for the thousandth time, and then some. It’ll be fine. It’ll be _fine_. It _has_ to be.

_Knock. Knock._

Dot’s head whips up at the rasping against their bedroom door, hair thrashing wildly as the sea of it parts to reveal their face to the light, eyes wide and face full as they stare at the door in front of them frozen in place. Gently, the knob turns, cautious as the door opens with the same amount of care, and the ghost’s body physically relaxes as a shuddery, shaking sigh passes their lips in held relief as hands pull apart and drift to either side of their form. Bea stares down at them with a shared sense of despondency, but stands firm nonetheless, and the golden dress she wears, while honestly lovely, feels almost out of character from her usually much more masculine attire. Her firm posture doesn’t falter in the least, however.

“Dot,” she utters quietly, soft and curt, and yet there’s no gentleness behind it at all. Bea doesn’t step into the room, merely remaining in her position behind the door, head and upper body peeking inwards at the teenager sitting on the bed. “It’s time.”

The younger sits for a moment, collecting themselves from the absolute burst of nerves that crackles and swarms through their body at those simple words, but they manage to give the woman a succinct nod, and feet move of their own accord as they force their trembling to cease while flat heels clack against the surface of the wooden floor. They rise and walk towards the exit of their room, hair and dress flowing like drapery behind them, and their guardian opens the door in full to allow them to withdraw into the dimmer light of the hallway. Bea shuts the door near soundlessly behind them, waiting for their dress to be completely free of the doorway, and the pair begin walking in tandem down the corridor, the elder taking the lead as she guides the way with Dot in tow at her side.

It’s silent. Uncomfortably, nervously so, the only sound between them the click-clack of shoes against the floor echoing in the narrow hallway. But neither speak, regardless, no small talk between them, no assuring words or comfort. What can be said? What could _possibly_ be said at a time like this, with what’s to come? With the stakes as high as they are, with the risks they’re about to take?

The pair take a right turn down the hall, following, for Dot, a very regrettably well-known path, and it’s then that Bea turns her head slightly downwards to face them, although most of the movement lies in brown eyes as her stride remains forward and unbroken. “You know what to do?” she asks hushedly, more of an affirmation than a question as she stares at the younger with hard, unflinching eyes, and although the ghost does not return her stare, they nod forwards for her all the same. Yes, they know. They feel like, at this point in time, they will never not know it’s so brutally ingrained into their head. They wouldn’t dare forget, not with so much on the line.

Bea doesn’t nod, nor speak, but acknowledges their gesture nonetheless, gaze returning forward as the duo continue to head towards their destination. The more halls they pass, the more corners they turn, the more guards begin to linger, some in formation, some merely lounging, but altogether denser and less sparse in between each group sighting. A few talk among themselves, most stand silent if not apparently bored or tired, but a few venture their eyes downwards to stare at the two, and those eyes make Dot even more nervous than they already are with all this unwanted attention on them. One young man in particular almost makes an overly appreciative show of eyeing them up as they approach another turn in the hall, and the ghost can feel their heart pounding in their chest as they do their best to focus their eyes forward, only forward, to not look him in the eyes as they pass him. He almost tuts as Dot steps near him, a sly grin on his face as the noise passes his lips like he were calling out to a lost cat, but Bea is apt to shoot him a sturdy glare over her shoulder, and the guard steps back in line, coy expression dropping from his face as he stands upright in position once more. The younger dares to feel the _slightest_ bit of relief as the man backs off and they turn the corner.

But a separate, older guard calls out loudly, head tilted as he stares them down from around the bend, enough for the youth to flinch and go stark still. “Don’t think this means we can’t mess around wit’cha anymore, Reaper. No way you’re gonna be above us. Remember what happens if you misbehave - cause that ain’t changing! You do anythin’ unruly, I’m still gonna grab those wings and rip that dress and - ”

A sharp, thin crystal _thrusts_ through the wall by the man’s head, protruding and deadly as it misses him by barely a few inches nearly grazing his cheek, and the guard freezes in place, eyes going wide as they stare from the rock to Bea. The woman glowers at him menacingly, hand positioned as if she were controlling a puppet as she stares him down, and whatever murmurs and idle chit-chat had gone on amongst the other guards silences as the corridor goes completely quiet. There’s a tension as Bea stares the man down, everyones’ eyes darting between the woman, the man, and the crystal nearly impaling his head - but Lena walks up and aptly smacks the guard up the side of the head hard, enough for him to groan as he recovers and turns his attention on her, yelling at her for hitting him as much as she yells at him for being a fucking grimey, repulsive idiot. The strain in the air dissipates with their ruckus, Bea giving Lena an almost softer look before turning her eyes forward, the crystal receding back into the wall as the duo continue their walk onwards, Dot taking just the slightest step closer to their guardian.

It goes without further incident, thankfully. Yet each step they take forwards, guards slowly but surely thinning out until only the elite linger, the further their stomach plummets into disdain. It’s only pack members now as they approach their destination, most older, all marked with those same diamond shaped insignias on their shoulders and chests, and though they are few and far between, all their eyes inevitably land on Dot. There’s one last corner to turn, now, and the ghost can feel their chest clench near painfully, memories triggering absolute learned fear as they clench their teeth to keep their lips from shaking, not wanting to make those last few steps around the bend, they’d do anything, _anything_ to not move forward as their pulse rises and their breathing increases, please - 

When a dark, unmarked doorway with no entrance comes into view, as do Baxter and Wolf standing up straight and residing in wait, and Dot can feel their chest drop as their blood runs cold. The hellhound isn’t smiling, not quite - but there’s a tug at his lips, an almost satisfied pulling as he stares down at the absolutely enchanting little angel walking up to him, playing their part as they curtsy to him in greeting as they always do. A bit uncouth for him, yes, but he can’t help but admire the sight before him, the creature all done up and exquisite exactly as he directed. How delightful. How _delicious_. Finally - afters years and years and years of rearing, of discipline and teaching and training so meticulously to his tastes, of painstakingly waiting and biding his time, Dot will now at last be entirely his and his alone. He can’t help the absolute gratification that swells in his chest. Triumphant. So much work paying off. _Finally_.

He pays the younger a similar respect for this special occasion, a gesture in his own way as he takes their partially gloved hand in his and brings it to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on their knuckles before lowering it between them. “Happy birthday, young lady,” he greets, that same tugging of his lips remaining as cold eyes stare intently into fearful ones, purposefully making himself linger before releasing their hand and turning his attention toward Bea. His head turns slightly to face hers. “There’s been a change in the arrangements. You’ll not be present for the ceremony.”

Dot’s eyes widen at his words, newfound terror washing over their mind as their little body clams up, and Bea’s once still demeanor grows agitated as her upright posture falters into a more defensive stance. Dark eyebrows furrow and russet eyes narrow almost aggressively. “ _What_?” the woman nearly scathes, golden fabric shifting about her legs as she takes a step forward towards her superior. The ground murmurs around her feet, trembling. “All my _life_ I have raised Dot.” Arms gestures with her words, and the earth quivers with each movement. Her eyes never leave Baxter’s as she stares him down with evident frustration. “I must attend the ritual. I am part of the pack too - you _promised_ me - ”

A hand rests on the witch’s shoulder, and Bea whips her head around to meet Wolf’s gaze, his own dark orbs calm and still as always as he offers her his own firm expression. Brown eyes stare into dark ones, conflicted, near searching for something - and slowly the ground ceases its quaking, settling into stillness as the earth calms and the tension in the woman’s body fades as her posture eases. Her risen shoulders drop and she takes a step back, not entirely at ease, but no longer threatening.

Baxter’s eyes remain narrowed as he watches her, but the tension steadily fades. “Miles perished on his last mission, which leaves his station by the gates open. I realize it’s short notice, but you must take his spot. I have no one else to fill it with today’s commemoration.”

Bea nearly huffs, lips tersing. _Bullshit_.

It’s silent for a few tense, unsure seconds before the woman finally decides to gruffly answer. “Fine.”

Dot seems to snap out of their own sudden shock as purple hues begin to dart back and forth between Bea and Baxter, lingering mostly on their guardian as they glance between the two like a deer in the headlights. White wings droop low against their back. Bea’s leaving? She won’t be there with them? But - but they need her! What will they do without her there? This isn’t part of the plan! This _ruins_ the plan! This isn’t -

Mismatched eyes dart to the side to look at them from above, and the ghost can feel their body go rigid once again, frozen in place from those cold orbs alone as their chest constricts tightly. They can’t take it - hues shift to Bea instead, fear now mingling with almost desperation as they stare at their guardian, uncertainty and anxiety obvious in their eyes. They can’t converse, can’t come up with any new strategy. They’ll be on their own now. What will they do? _What will they do_?

But the woman shoots the younger a short nod and a slight smile, her aura softening for her charge as the poor thing stares at her like a lost, frightened fawn. “I will see you later, Dot. You will be fine. It will be okay.”

This is definitely _not_ okay.

Wolf removes his hand from Bea’s shoulder as a nearby member places his hand on her back, urging her along with him, and the woman sends the man a nasty look, but moves with him regardless. Her head turns over her shoulder to give her charge one last parting glance before she turns forward, staring down the hall pensive and focused as her head runs a mile a minute, new ideas and new routes compiling through her brain as she works through scenarios both situational and practical. Everything is all up in the air now, but it can be salvaged. It _must_ be salvaged. She will get the two of them out of here before Baxter makes his mark.

And, now, Dot is alone.

They almost stare in disbelief until Bea is out of sight, unable to completely wrap their head around what just transpired. Not _wanting_ to believe it. What are they going to do now? How are they going to stop this? They don’t - they don’t know what to do -

A hot hand touches their shoulder, and the ghost instinctively flinches away in their anxious jittery state, plummeting back into their unfortunate reality as they stare upwards at Baxer with skittish purple orbs. But his insistence persists despite their movement, hand returning only to grasp with greater force, insistent and assertive. And Dot does all they can to quell their trembling and maintain their composure despite the panic riddling their figure, for their own sake. Their gaze drops, settled firmly downward. They don’t dare to look at him. They don’t want to.

“Come along, Dot,” the hellhound presses, urging them forward and jumpstarting their little body as they hesitantly walk forward along with him, hyper-conscious and aware of every touch, every grazing that comes in contact with them. Baxter presses them closer to his side, forcing them flush against him as they walk in stride, hand shifting from their shoulder to wrap his arm completely around them. They hate it. They hate it they hate it they _hate_ it. They wish he would stop touching them, stop pulling them close, they’d give _anything_ to push him away, the discomfort of it all settling again into nausea in their gut that threatens to spill forth. Royal hues dart briefly upwards to stare at Wolf, to look at anything that isn’t Baxter or the dark wall before them - and the man glances back at them, firm and quiet, but not at all malicious. Steady. Grounding, in a way. It’s almost reassuring.

But they have no choice but to look forward as they approach the wall in front of them, and if it weren’t for Baxter’s body forcing them forward, there’s no way they’d be able to push through and press onwards on their own. Steps feel heavy and weighted, each clunk of their heels on the floor pulsing a spike of dread that ripples through their body, and all they can focus on is every click, clack forwards of their feet as pale limbs bring them closer towards the dark entryway. It’s simple - not even a door at all, but the markings are there, singed into stone with black and soot, and blue flame erupts along its edges as the hellhound wills its existence. The recognizable image sparks immediate tension, flames rising against the scarred edges in tandem with their building terror as fire engulfs masonry with fervor. It clings and drags itself across the surface as it ravishes, blackened ash alighting in hot, fiery red, and what was once but an outline becomes an entryway, the rectangular shape disconnecting from the wall as it rotates inward heavy and slow. It’s dark, save for a faint purple glow in the distance, but the air is so thick and dense with black that Dot can hardly see a few inches past the opening. The uncertainty of what lies in wait only feeds their anxiety; they’re reluctant to step forward.

Baxter pushes them inwards anyway. They nearly trip over the threshold of the doorframe, stumbling slightly as they lurch forward with shoes scuffing, but they catch themselves. The man is quick to pull them back against his side, and the ghost speedily sets themselves upright, an exemplary example of posture as they force themselves to primness. The last thing they need is the hellhound scolding them right now for their clumsiness, especially before such an important event. They’ll be lucky if he doesn’t do anything about it later, afterwards, especially in _this_ place.

Violet hues glance and search around, desperate for any sign of anything, but find only the faint glow of indigo and lavender somewhere up ahead, so they keep their gaze forward, squinting slightly as they struggle to make shapes come into view. It’s not long before objects achieve permience and clarity makes sense of their surroundings, thankfully. They can see pack members, quite a few of them, mingling and standing around a rune etched into the floor. Wickers supported by candlesticks surround the circle, flames licking and cracking in alternating purple and blue, and people stand between each candlestick as they stare at the trio approaching silently, any chatter or dribble ceasing at the sight of them. Dot’s not entirely sure how far the space expands, the surrounding area completely covered in ebony fog, but they hardly pay that any mind, attention utterly focused on the unnerving imagery of members standing mute and erect in the dim, colored lighting. All eyes on them in the dark.

It’s difficult to resist the clamoring urge to run.

Wolf walks to the side into an unoccupied spot in the ring as Baxter and Dot step forward, the hellhound moving them along until the pair stand solitary in the center. Candlelight flickers across their faces as the larger turns himself to face the younger head on, shadows deepening the sharpness of his features in a way that makes the man appear almost eerie. The ghost swallows thickly, throat bobbing up and down as violet hues stare upwards into mismatched ones. He smiles down at them, faint, bordering on a smirk, and the pit of their stomach drops underneath his calm, devious gaze.

It breaks, however, when the man moves backwards away from them, instead striding towards the edge of the rune, and Dot stands in their place as they’re supposed to, watching Baxter nervously as he returns their glance with intent. His angular eyes don’t break from their own as he extends a hand outwards towards one of the taller members of the pack, the man handing him a black leather collar aligned with small silver circulets and threaded drapery, and the hellhound grasps it wordlessly as he begins pacing around the perimeter of the group. Circling the teenager as if he were stalking prey, waiting for the right moment to strike, yet biding his time all the same. Enjoying the occasion. Starting slow. Taking _pleasure_ in it.

“I’ve waited _so_ long for today, my dear,” he spouts, voice cold and calm, and his spiked tail flickers from one side to the next in sways as he eyes up the youth. Eyes break temporarily from the ghost to admire the collar within his grasp, tossing it over and feeling it between his fingers as he appreciates the piece in its entirety. “All these years - all this time training you to hone your power. Control your abilities. Rearing you into the beautiful, powerful young lady you are before me.”

His stare lifts back to Dot, tail almost curling as sharp irises deepen with the thin smile on his face. “And now that you’ve come of age, dear,” he continues, scarred hues resting at the base of the younger’s gown before deliberately trailing his eyes upwards, taking all of them in, “I can finally claim you as my own.”

Their gaze falters from his as he paces their figure, falling downwards as they stare at their own feet. They - they don’t want to see the way he looks at them, like some sort of meal or treat to devour, to consume and use over and over again like they’re some plaything. Their breathing increases as thoughts race, trying to collect themselves and steady their uncontrolled pulse as hues rise to stare around the formed circle, searching for any breaks in the formation, any indication of one of the members being distracted. Okay - okay. What should they do - what should they do? At this point, Bea was going to create a distraction before Baxter had the chance to reapproach, to clear the way as they made a run for the door which she’d have open and ready for them - but Bea’s not here now. They’re on their own entirely. What are they supposed to do? What _can_ they do? They can’t let Baxter start his process. They can’t let him claim them - Bea made that abundantly clear. If he manages to mark them, then they’ll lose everything. It cannot happen. They were supposed to clear the area before it even got this far - and now Baxter’s treading ever closer, strides focusing in on target as they just stand there frozen and gently trembling.

Violet hues have no choice but to raise to meet their superior’s, reluctant as they are, and the man demands their attention, hand grasping underneath their chin as he lifts their head to stare at him dead in the eye. Baxter all but bares into them as mismatched orbs grow alight, their own sort of flame to them without truly catching, and he lingers there, subjecting the younger to their place before leaning downwards towards them with faces close and breaths hot. His voice rings out low and gruff, almost inaudible, but it rumbles with force as he nearly snarls out the words only for their ears to catch while fingers tighten near painfully on their chin.

“You are _mine_.”

His grasp loosens, and Dot experiences the slightest bit of relief at the lack of pressure, but a new force adorns their neck as Baxter clasps the choker around their throat, the girth of it heavy and digging into their skin, and their chest absolutely plummets. They have no time to touch it and no time to process the weight it brings both physically and mentally; they don’t even have the time to consider struggling. Baxter steals the air from their lungs as thin lips meet plush ones, smashed and crushed together as the man squeezes them tightly in his arms, and a muffled grunt catches in the younger’s throat as their eyes flinch and scrunch shut. White wings tuck in tight against their back, crumpled against their own body from the power of the hellhound’s massive arms, and every fiber of their being _screams_ to be released, to fight and run and protest because no, no this _can’t_ be happening. He gobbles them up without care, pressing lips further as he deepens the kiss, and plump lips are forced open by sharp teeth and an insistent tongue as Baxter delves further into them. Knees nearly buckle as their legs tremble gently, their head woozy and body going almost limp in his arms as he steals the very life from their lips, violet eyelids growing heavy and murky. They’re tired - so, so tired so suddenly as the tension in their jaw falls, and it occurs to them, in that split second, in that fleeting moment of clarity that he must be draining them on purpose to weaken them, cloud their judgement, make them _vulnerable_ \- and that’s when the panic sets in, rampant and crazed as adrenaline rages through their veins shrieking at them to run, run, _run_.

But they’re just so, _so_ exhausted.

The younger withers under heavy arms, the smallest of whimpers catching between their mouths, and Baxter smirks slightly as slit eyes peer at the teenager in his arms. A large hand moves upwards to cusp behind their head, holding them in place, and the hellhound’s blind eye glows alight in blue flame as it sparks to life. Wispy crackles of fire dart from his body to the youth below, catching flame across pale freckled skin and tresses of glowing white hair. The fire doesn’t burn, not like the ghost expects it to - instead it crawls across their body until it reaches its multiple destinations, dancing along their shoulders, their chest, their forearm. It lingers, glowing bright and strong in the dark - until it suddenly _fiercely_ begins to singe, sizzling and engraving against unblemished flesh, and purple eyes shoot wide open. What was once a need to sleep immediately transfigures into a need to burst, to fight and attack and not allow this to happen as the back of their neck _explodes_ with unanticipated energy. Baxter’s flames mar their skin, but whatever comes from their nape vibrates with enough energy to make them tremble, the unknown force fighting the other as it engulfs their body with what the ghost can only describe as absolute _fury_.

No...No! They don’t want to belong to Baxter! They don’t ever want to belong to Baxter! They can’t let this happen! They won’t _let_ it happen! Stupid, foolish man, they can never be his, they’re already - !

Whatever consciousness or force echoes in their mind, mingling and responding in turn with their own will, floods their body with so much power their hands shake, now gripping almost painfully tight onto the man still holding them in his arms. Lips separate from their own as Baxter turns his face downwards into their neck, brushing against long, curled hair. Sharp fangs graze against their nape, threatening, nearly piercing their skin to set his claim in stone, and the tug of the collar grows _unbearable_ , as if acting in accordance with its master, binding them still. Teeth prepare to puncture their skin, digging into the surface as fangs almost, _almost_ pierce their flesh - 

When the irate energy flowing from their neck heightens to the point where Dot can no longer take it, its power boosting and encouraging their own as it gives them clout, and the younger _hollers_ with a shrill, far from natural tone as wide eyes completely fog over in purple, paltry arms forcing themselves outwards and out of the man’s grasp with enough force to send him tumbling backwards towards the outer edge of the circle. Members shield themselves from the ensuing gravity of the burst, protective of their own bodies as they stand defensively, yet all motions transmorph into genuine shock as they watch the teenager mist in violent, unpredictable bursts, constant in motion and hysterical in nature as particles swell to protect their host. Dot continues to wail loudly, dainty hands gripping thick and tight into their scalp as they tug at evergrowing strands, hunching inwards on themselves in yowling pain as their body mutates into something much bigger, much more gangly and unhealthy. Limbs grow long and unnatural, bones protruding along skin so pronounced they nearly appear undead, and nails become elongated as they curl and thicken dangerously, the once pale-pink color inking into a void-like black. White wings steadily grow large, appropriate to their size and no longer fluffy as they extend outwards long and gliding. Their body fights itself amidst the transformation with hands tugging and pulling at themselves desperately while they wail their agony, bones cracking and tearing behind grossly shifting flesh as marrow threatens to pierce through their own flesh in its violent movement. Grotesque and perverse, it’s almost as if Dot’s husk struggles against itself, their figure wishing to expand or grow a certain way only for blue flame to tattoo deeper into their skin, forbidding their will as it binds them unyielding like a prison. Yet their body adjusts under the restraints; unable to break their fiery chains, but adapting by whatever means necessary - and the result is a gastly, horrific sight with massive clawed limbs and a body so sunken it’s merely a skeleton formed of bones and stretchy skin.

Baxter recovers quickly, his eyes mooning at the gargled shrieks and hideously shifting carcass as it grows in size, but that expression narrows as fangs grit together, near grinding as he scowls at the creature with malicious rage.

“Subdue it!” he barks, his own figure beginning to change as teeth grow pronounced, aqua flames engulfing his form as it morphs into ash and soot, and a few members snap out of their aghast trances at their alpha’s orders and rush forward to take on the new threat. Dot _shrills_ at their motion, shrieking with such deafening aptitude that two of the attackers flinch and cover their ears with pain evident on their faces. But it doesn’t stop them all. One man tugs a whip from its holster at his side, snapping it outwards to wrap around one of their clawed arms while another summons a bolt of electricity within his palms, jolting it outwards as it strikes the youth with a piercing sting. The ghost’s cries amplify with the pain from the onslaught, their shrieks near thunderous enough for the ground to rumble and the walls to shake, and all faces grimace from the ear splitting sound. Dot wrenches their bound arm to the side, their captor yelling as he’s suddenly thrown about like a ragdoll, unable to keep his grip on his weapon as his body flings through the air and crashes onto the ground. Claws sharply slash with alarming speed towards their other attacker, who dodges to leap out of the way - but their nails catch on his chest and upper arm, slicing clean as they rip through flesh, and the man cries out as blood oozes and pours forth hot and flowing, his unmarked arm reaching to clasp tightly at his wounds.

All that courses through their painfully mutated figure is power and _frenzy_ as mist now swirls about erratically, violent and swishing like a sandstorm as it begins to build, and build, and build in the air, until it all comes crashing down at once, hitting the ground like waves as it travels and swerves in tendrils and clouds with intent. It crawls up legs, writhing against skin until it reaches multiple pairs of eyes in swooping, overwhelming motions, the dust melding with flesh as it seeps into open, fearful irises, and suddenly all hands reach for weapons, knives, guns, clubs as people position themselves with clouded, purple eyes. They move without hesitation, with a succinct, purposeful calmness as faces go blank and unaffected, blades pressing to dig into necks, guns removing the safety as barrels push into temples, clubs rising upwards as they’re positioned highly above heads -

When there’s a howling snarl, a burst of blue flame, and all motions stop.

Dot flinches, clutching themselves with their own claws as the newly formed markings on their body connect and bind together even in their changed form, the many dots and diamonds joining together in strands almost akin to thread as they bind them like netting, squeezing against their body like a straightjacket, and the youth wails in displeasure. They struggle, but to no avail, the magical restraints unforgiving and not loosening in the slightest as the shadowy hellhound fiercely stares them down, muzzle snarling and teeth profound as blazing fire rages along his back like a mane. The room surrounding them shifts, candles and their holsters disappearing as magical walls rise to unseen heights and haze lifts to give way to near blinding light. The lack of darkness makes Baxter’s body all the more pronounced as he adjusts the room around them, spirit-like figure wisping with curled shadows as his long, lean tail flickers aggressively back and forth. He hunches forward on front legs as if about to pounce, snarling as lean white wings flap about in a reflexive panic to free themselves, but to no avail. Dot’s body continues to struggle as it withers, their once bursting strength steadily and slowly draining as their shrieks weaken into minute whimpers, and it’s under those fiery bindings that their body begins to shrink, joints shifting and mist steadily fading as foggy purple orbs grow heavier and heavier until they close entirely. Their body falls to the ground, and imprisoning threads dissipate and return to normal markings completely identical to the hellhound’s save for a unique embodiment on their left forearm, magic no longer containing the threat as their being once again encapsulates that of a human youth.

The teenager lays there, exhausted and seemingly asleep, but eventually they stir, wild hair shifting around them as closed eyes twitch. An arm shifts to press their palm to the ground, using the leverage to sit themselves more upwards, and a droaning, pained groan echoes behind closed lips as they struggle to raise themselves. What - what just happened? Where are they? Their head feels heavy, and fogged over. The last thing they remember is Baxter holding them tight, his teeth against their neck, and -

A hand moves upwards to clasp at their pounding head as purple hues blearily flutter open, groggy and disoriented as their vision clears while they try to look around -

Dot absolutely freezes on the spot, consciousness crashing into them like a freight train at the sight of Baxter’s canine body _gnarling_ at them, violet hues shooting open. Terror jolts through their body paralyzing and substantial at the sight of those grizzly fangs, those beady blue eyes, the insurmountable walls of the morphing space around them.

Oh - oh god - what did they _do_?

“You despicable little ingrate!” the hound roars, demonic tone growling as his snout wrinkles. Blue flame crackles and flares from the ground when a paw stretches against the floor, claws extending outwards. “You think you can save yourself? Fight this? Fight _me_?” Nostrils flare and blackened smoke pipes forth, snarl deepening as gums and a long tongue reveal themselves. “I _OWN_ you!”

A ferocious, outcrying roar echoes fiercely through the enclosed walls of the room, Baxter rearing his head upwards with the biting burst, and Dot violently flinches at his uproar, visibly trembling as they snivel and scurry backwards away from him. The hound slumps a step forward, muzzle lowering once again as he glowers at the younger, claws scratching against the floor so harshly it sparks. “You can’t escape this place. You _never_ will,” he growls, prowling another step forward, shadows and sparks dancing about his paw. “And I will beat that reality into you until you break - for as many times as I must!”

With each slow, yet gruff movement forward, Dot crawls backwards on the ground, hair a wild mess as their elongated dress tangles about their legs, making it harder for them to scramble, but they aren’t bothered to notice. Tears pour down their cheeks and stain their blushed face as the ghost grovels on the floor, desperate to keep the hound distant from them. Fingers and hands shake near violently as they drag themselves forward. No, no - please, please, they’ll do anything, anything, just don’t hunt them down, don’t sink teeth into their belly, don’t make their body flow with so much blood over and over they can’t even see through it anymore, don’t force them to cling to their own amputated limb in a hurried rush without the time or energy to reattach it to their body, don’t push them down onto the ground with legs spread and fangs ripping a wing from its socket, don’t -

Don’t -

Don’t -

 _Don’t_ \- !

They don’t want to die! They don’t want to be killed! _Please_ not again, never again, never, they’ll - !

Both eyes turn towards an abrupt sound coming from the corner of the room, echoing and shifting, and royal eyes widen and lips part at the unbelievable, truly unbelievable sight. The door - the door to the room -

_It’s open._

Baxter himself stares at the sight in his own disbelief, head even raising as his attention drifts from Dot to the entryway, and the younger’s pulse swells and races as their breathing increases heavily, panting, and immediate, sharp adrenaline pumps through their blood and gives their figure strength as every instinct and fiber of their being screams at them to go, go, _go_.

_**Run.** _

Dot scurries to their feet, stumbling only for a second before catching themselves as hands grip tightly at the hem of their dress, lifting the length of it upwards and out of the way as small feet dart across the ground, nearly leaping in their strides as they bolt towards the exit desperately. Their motion seems to regain the hound’s attention, and Baxter glances between their bolting figure and the open door before absolutely _howling_ , flames exploding and bursting from his mane in furious animosity as he surges forward, heavy, weighted paws making the ground beneath him tremble with each powerful bound onward. Blue eyes lock onto the youth just as their own orbs lock onto the doorway, their only chance of escape as they sprint towards it with unbridled, fearful fervor. Little white wings flap instinctively to gain any sort of momentum forward, anything that will aid in their speed, and dainty feet start to mist as they approach the threshold of the entryway, Baxter tight on their heels as he snarls viciously from behind them. All of their body thrusts forward the closer they get to that door as they project themselves from the floor with each dire bound, breathing excessively from effort and panic. Mist encapsulates them as physical flesh dissipates into chaotic fog - and Dot cries out at the ripping of skin along their back as claws rake against muscle and tear them open - 

Paws phase through what was once their body as the youth finishes their transformation and crosses through into the outside hallway, mist slithering and darting at breakneck speed as it weaves and flows along the floorboards, the wallpaper, the ceiling in a distinctly condensed mass. A few guards stare flabbergasted, eyes following the bundle of dust before inevitably landing on the stampeding hound following in rampant pursuit as Baxter plunges himself down the hallway.

The man all but hollers in his canine state, snarling as blue flame flurries in his tracks. “ _ **Catch it**_!” he thunders, rigorous paws shaking the ground beneath as he sharply turns a corner to keep up with brisk mist, his body slamming into drywall with a thud from his own reckless momentum and knocking over a nearby end table. But he’s apt to recover, erratic and crazed in his pursuit as he hunts the younger down, and Dot maneuvers through corridors as they frantically try to recall which turn leads where, which hallway connects to another, knowledge that was once second hand now suddenly blurry in their delirious hysteria. Only fear drives them now; and it’s fear that’s to blame in keeping their head afloat as much as it is in anchoring them down into the depths of ignorance. Guards along their path clash at particles with weaponry and magic, all in attempts to stop them, and a few even fling themselves into their wispy form - but if there’s one skill Dot’s mastered above all else, it’s fleeing. Fog curls and whips from side to side, all manner of conflict thrown at them in vain as they zoom up walls and dart between floorboards, and any blow that manages to land simply phases through them. Yet even so, even in this willowy, untouchable form - 

Blue fire rages hot and poignant as it bursts from Baxter’s muzzle, aimed at them in blind attempts to hinder them by any means possible. It wreaks destruction in its wake, floors and walls alight with otherworldly flames, and mist pops and crackles away from it in bursts and weaves as Dot dodges the man’s reckless onslaught. Even a few guards catch alight in the hellhound’s carelessness as they wail and jump aghast, thrashing wildly as they attempt to put out the fire on their bodies. Baxter clamors ferociously as another explosion of flame bursts from his maw, the fire licking against them as the ghost turns another corner, and mist recoils and jolts away from the source, faltering as it scrambles erratically before forcing itself to continue weaving onward. It’s hot, so, so hot they can feel it burn them even in this state, sections of mist trailing behind slightly as if in a limp, and it’s in that second of weakness that the hound lurches forward and plunges himself with rippling back legs, claws drawn and maw wide as teeth bare in a snarl with front legs extended towards them -

Only for a pained, whimpered wail to whine from his throat as a yellow crystal plunges upwards into his jaw from the ground, fangs clasping shut with a harsh clank as the force of it rears the hound’s head upwards, kneeling him back. Other crystals follow in rampant pursuit, extending outwards along the ground, the walls, the ceiling, until a wall of pointed quartz blocks Baxter’s path completely, and Dot stares back in astonishment in their still wispy state. Bea sprints from the corner of the conjoining hallway, following alongside the ghost, though she’s quick to beckon them as she yells, taking the lead. “This way!” she yells at them, heading down the opposite hall, and Dot redirects themselves, mist swirling in reverse as they immediately follow her directions. Waves of relief and joy overflow their still raging nerves at the sight and sound of their guardian, suddenly feeling much, much more secure as they catch up to her, and Dot would absolutely squeal her name in that moment if they could. But instead they scurry onward, joining the witch’s path - and an absolute _explosion_ of sound erupts from behind them, enough to make mist jump as the blare of shattering rock rumbles through the walls. Deafening, furious roars pierce the air as the ground begins to rumble, and although Dot can no longer see him, they can hear the echoing, pounding strides of the hound’s pursuit.

“You traitorous wench!” the man snarls, his growls reverbing down the narrow halls. “I’ll have you _both_ killed!”

Bea’s sprint falters as she turns herself around mid movement, forward motion slowing as muscled arms contort into specific motions, and with each coordination comes crystals of all sorts shooting from the ground to further block the path behind them. Baxter rounds the corner, his body coming into view - and the hound _barrels_ though the colored rock with his head thrashing into crystal, and it cracks and shatters like glass, the sheer force and weight of his body pummeling through it regardless of the damage it does. The witch grimaces at his actions, but doesn’t stop, raising forth a few more crystalline pieces before focusing entirely forward once more. As the pair near the staircase to the surface, droves of guards block their path, weapons and magic drawn, and a few lurch outwards towards them. Bea grunts as she slams her hands hard onto the ground, quartz bursting forth from either side of the hall to knock the attackers to the side as their bodies slam into the walls with a harsh thwack. She continues her movements, but can only go on for a few more motions before she’s forced to engage with another attacker, body swiftly dodging the man’s forward blow as she positions herself to ram her elbow into his back. The woman holds her own well between the physical onslaught and crystalizing - but the sharp sound of shattering quartz echoes ever closer, as does the thundering of footsteps, and there’s no time.

Dot’s figure reforms as they manifest themselves, body faltering from the wound on their back as they lean their weight onto one side in a flinch, but violet hues promptly haze over into utter purple, and their wild hair almost seems to float as drafts and billows of formulated mist spread rapidly across the floor, filling the air and climbing up multiple limbs to reach open irises - and all motion ceases as the crowd suddenly halts in place, bodies going lax and standing dumbly upright as multitudes of royal orbs stare into nothing.

The shroud retracts back from whence it came, the teenager’s hues returning to normal - only for them to immediately stumble over, blood flowing down their now stained backside as they topple to the ground, barely catching themselves. Tired - so, so tired. Baxter’s so close, and they’re terrified beyond belief, but they feel so weary. Weak. Dizzy.

Bea snatches them up in her grasp, wasting no time for gentleness as she grabs the younger’s forearm within strong fingers, tugging them as she forces them to their feet and onwards. “Come on - almost there, Dot, almost there!” she yells, encouraging yet hurried, and the motion of her arm and the sound of her voice brings the ghost to their feet, scrambling as they hobble along to meet her pace as best they can. They stumble, and limp, but go on regardless. Bea all but slams the gate open, pulling her charge along up the stairs, but the infuriated screech of Baxter’s hollers pulls their attention downwards, watching with wide eyes as the hound charges down the lower hall at full speed. Bea _flings_ Dot upwards, muscles clenching as she tosses the younger to the top of the stairs, and the woman cries loudly as powerful hands strike the ground, arms near rippling and dreads swaying as a _massive_ barrier of crystals erupts across the inside of the stairwell, covering the space completely with a thick layer of sturdy quartz. The woman pants, chest heaving, but wastes no time as she abruptly turns to Dot, dragging them along once again through the main room of the base until the pair reach and exit the front doors of the house. The youth has no time to feel any sort of relief, or joy, or disbelief at the steps they take outside of their own will for the first time as they scurry and stagger along, following their guardian until they reach the edge of the walls surrounding the base.

It’s only then that Bea finally turns to the younger, facing them as she bends her body to meet them at eye level. Her expression sullies at the sight of crimson dripping down her charge’s back, but there’s no time to address it. Despite her racing, pounding heart and own fearful panic, she stares at Dot steady and hard, gaze set as she does all she can to keep her voice even and breathing under control. “Alright, Dot - it’s time. Remember what he taught you.”

The younger swallows thick and hard, desperate to catch their breath as their chest heaves still, mouth agape and gasping. Even now their figure trembles, hardly able to stand as they stare at their guardian with blurred eyes, but they nod at her regardless.

Brown orbs soften at the youth, unsure and worrisome as brows furrow, but it doesn’t linger long; it can’t. She positions herself on the ground, kneeling with hands flat as Dot hobbles away in the opposite direction, creating a decent stretchway of space between the two of them before turning to face Bea and the edge of the fence. They lower themselves despite the ache in their body, wings misting as once small feathers sprout outwards with wisps, elongating and growing immensely as their feathered limbs become massive. Sizeable enough to use - to fly.

They hold their wings steady and flat, and a shaky, nervous breath exhales over their lips. They can do this - it’s been a long while, but they’re determined. Their life depends on it. Just like Bea said - remember what he taught you.

Legs _sprint_ as Dot lunges to pick up speed, wings flapping with gusto to catch their gait as they propel themselves forward, ignoring the searing pain in their back muscles from the action. The motion of their wings combined with their wounds scorches near torturous pain through their body, and the ghost grunts in pain as skin tears further - but they don’t dare stop. Using their momentum and the weight of their body, the teenager lifts themselves into the air, wings thrusting almost desperately as gusts of air blow in whirs from the force of their body. They garner enough speed and height to clear the wall, ascending upwards - and a flat crystal bursts from the earth beneath Bea’s hunched form, lifting her upwards into the air as arms reach and clasp onto Dot’s own extended limbs. The youth grunts as smaller hands clasp tightly around their guardian’s wrists, knuckles white from the tightness of their grip, and Dot stumbles in the air, large wings flapping erratically to make up for the sudden weight. The pair clear the wall, flying into the abandoned city block below filled with decrepit old warehouses and deserted buildings darkened by lack of streetlight. Dot dares to feel the slightest bit of relief as they gaze downwards at the metalwork below because - because they’ve made it. They’re out of that place, and gaining ground quickly from flight, faster than even Baxter can keep up with - they’re _free_.

But it doesn’t last. An updraft throws already struggling wings off balance, and they can’t control the shift in weight - they try to catch themselves, to bring their flight back on course, but the winds continue to blow, and suddenly their position buckles as gusts force them to descend, wings unable to recover despite their frantic flapping. It does them no good without proper practice or technique, even with the strength of their wings thrusting like mad, and the pair brace themselves for impact as they crash onto the ground, Bea grunting and Dot wailing as their already beat up body tears against the concrete. The elder stands first, quick to rise to her feet as she dashes to the younger’s side, her own panic on her face.

“Dot!” she exclaims kneeling next to their body as the smaller groans almost pathetically, scraped up, dirty hands pushing against the ground as they attempt to raise themselves. Bea pulls them to their feet, careful, yet hurried all the same. She looks the ghost over hastily. “Are you alright?”

The ghost winces, but ignores the stinging in their hands, lifting their head to stare at the woman in turn as soiled, tangled hair falls across their face. No - no, they’re _not_ alright. Their body’s far beyond the point of ache, head pounding and limbs so heavy they could very well drag them into the ground. They can feel every minuscule movement. Their pulse at constant tug-of-war with itself, unable to decide whether it should race from adrenaline or slow from exhaustion. Lost blood reforming in their veins only to pour outwards from untreated wounds in a draining, painful cycle. They feel themselves half dead yet unable to die.

It doesn’t stop them.

Dot grasps onto the woman’s arms, tugging her with as much force as they can muster as white wings spread, outer feathers brushing against the walls of the alley and hindering their length, but they pay it no mind. “We gotta get back in the air,” they nearly gargle, eyes wide and driven as they tug the woman along, forcing their wings to flap as gusts of air blow and toss about discarded, random debris on the ground. Bea calls something out to them to get their attention, but their mind focuses on the singular drive of getting airborne, ignoring their lack of space or the weight of the woman in their grasp. Dot _desperately_ drags Bea along, managing to lift off slightly even with her bulk - but curtly stumbles after managing to only achieve a good ten feet off the ground. They can’t get the leverage they need, not with the lack of space and their inexperience, and yet they keep pushing forward, even after tumbling to the ground once more, even after their third crazed attempt to soar the two of them into the sky.

They have to do this! They have to make it! Thoughts frantically race as they try to recall everything he taught them, some tip or technique they may have overlooked when they were distracted by dark wings and playful arms, anything to help them pull through this moment when their life literally depends on it. But legs continue to stumble, wings erratically give way, and Dot stands and trembles and falls before standing again, sprinting best they can because they _must_ , they have no other choice, they have to get in the air, right now - !

“Dot, stop!”

Muscled arms tug at their grip, the younger’s strength no match for their guardian’s as they’re forced to a still, and wide violet hues stare at Bea with a mixture of urgency and panic. The ghost jerks at her grasp, wrenching her forward, but the woman doesn’t budge. “Why? We have to go!” the teenager exclaims, still yanking at the witch’s hold. “If we don’t keep moving, Baxter will - ”

“Listen to me,” she forces their attention, grabbing both sides of their shoulders tightly as she leans down to their level, staring at them sternly. “Listen to me. You move faster than I do. You must go on without me.”

All of Dot’s weight plummets at her words, body stilling as they stare at her agape, almost in disbelief. But they shake themselves out of it, voice growing loud as they nearly shout at her, and smaller hands grab at her arms as their face crumples into an angry manic. “No! No! I’m not going to leave you!” they nearly plead, voice breaking as fingers dig into her skin, refusing to let go. “We have to go together! I’m not leaving you behind!”

Tears fall from their eyes thick and heavy as their lower lip trembles, royal orbs never breaking from russet as they nearly beg with her. They can’t go on without her - they don’t want to go on without her! What if something happens to Bea? And what will they do without her? They don’t know this place, don’t know _anything_ about the world outside of the underground, and they _need_ her! They need their guardian! They won’t leave her!

_They won’t leave their mom!_

Dot snivels as their voice shakes, whining and breaking as their hard hold on her softens into clinging, head lowering as they almost pull the woman into a hug, face burrowing into her chest. “Please - _please_ don’t make me go on without you. I’m so scared. I don’t want to leave you. Please. _Please_ , Bea.”

The woman’s eyes water, but she restrains herself as she shifts her arms to force them out of Dot’s grasp, pulling the youth back so she can see them head on as her hands grip at either side of their shoulders. “I’m sorry, Dot,” she almost laments, forcing herself to remain calm and restricting her own quivering with grit teeth. “I’m so sorry.”

Hands release from the smaller as the woman reaches into a pocket under her dress, pulling forth a small, yellow crystal that faintly glows in the darkness of the alley. “I wanted to gift this to you later,” she explains, attaching the quartz to the teen’s collar with a hooked snap of metal, and the rock shimmers briefly before once more settling in its gentle gleam. “It will keep Baxter from finding you. Don’t _ever_ take it off. Guard it with your life.”

Howling echoes in the distance, seemingly far off, yet close enough for the two of them to whip their heads in the noise’s direction, eyes widening before Bea garners the younger’s attention, urging them to look at her as she grasps their face and redirects it towards her own. “Mist and get as far away from here as you can. Follow the landmarks I taught you and wait for me at the rendezvous point.”

Bea rises to her feet, and Dot nearly blubbers, grasping her dress as they stare up at her with tear stained cheeks. Why - _why_?! If they could just fly - get their feet off the ground -

If _Kyle_ were here - if he could show them what to do - they could lift Bea together if it were the two of them -

Why couldn’t he be here?! They wish here were here - he’d almost be an adult by now, and could help them, could run away and fight and protect just like he used to, like he always did, and this wouldn’t be happening, they wouldn’t have to _abandon_ Bea -

Are they going to lose her? Just like they lost him?

Death would be kinder.

The woman grasps them tighter as they quiver and blubber, staring into royal hues steadfast. “Dot. Listen to me. I _will_ follow you. I _will_ meet up with you again, I swear.”

Roars grow louder, closer now, bellowing and voracious, and the woman’s lips terse and eye go blurry as she pulls the youth into a tight, squeezing hug, holding her child tight in her chest, and Dot grasps at the woman just as desperately, silently begging in vain for the embrace not to end. But it hardly lasts, the witch forcing herself to pull away, and Dot stares upwards with wet eyes, arms around her waist for one final grasp. “I love you. I love you,” they whimper, voice uneven and shaking, as they repeat the words. And it takes every fiber of her being to pull the younger away, to force those small arms off her figure as she urges the teenager onwards, planting a brief kiss on the crown of their messy head.

“I love you too, baby,” she nearly willows, voice on the edge of breaking, of caving in, but she pushes the younger forward towards the end of the alley, leading them onward. “Now go. I’ll see you soon.”

Bea darts off after that, long legs sprinting as she heads in the opposite direction, and Dot only allows themselves one more distraught glance before their body morphs and fades into pinks and purples, mist becoming one with the shadows as they writhe into the night.

They do as they’re told, following the signs and buildings Bea pointed out to them, and although they come into some close calls with a few gang members, they’re quick to conceal themselves. It’s terrifying, and exhausting, being hunted like this, so similar to when Baxter did the same back at the base in that room - but it’s different now. The landscape is real. There’s an actual way out. And all their life they’ve traversed abandoned streets, hidden in dumpsters, became one with darkness and flickering lights as they dart through cracks in concrete, or glide along rooftops. What was once merely arcane fantasy is now real, solid and tangible before them, and that fact alone drives them forward, the knowledge that there is, in fact, an _end_ to this.

And although it takes them all night, and early morning, to reach the safety of their agreed upon meeting place, they do, in fact, reach it. Mist gathers to take physicality against the wall of the abandoned building, vaguely registering the racing of cars and the muffled mumbling of passersby on the street, but they’re too drained to focus. They’re in the main city now, they know that much, where lights and neon shine and there’s actually real life, living people wandering about their lives, but their little body slumps bloody and filthy and worn against the wall, barely registering anything other than their own weight as they pant heavy and slow. The bleeding has slowed, if only somewhat, though not enough even now, and it’s with _immense_ effort that the ghost rips off the bottom of their long dress with forced tearing, gown shortening to their lower thighs as they wrap the soiled cloth around their chest, tightening it with groaning pain and a sharp grimace. It’s painful, and dirty - but at least it greatly slows the bleeding. Head hitting the brick wall behind them, Dot slumps with half-lid eyes, barely able to stay conscious as they wait in silence for Bea to arrive, drifting in and out of slumber as they collapse backwards.

They wait until the shriek of a car horn startles them awake late into the afternoon. And wait even when they fall asleep once more late into the night, stomach gurgling and body nothing but aches. And they wait even _longer_ until morning arrives with the sun bright and tall over massive buildings only scarcely in view from what little sky they can see from above them in the alley.

They wait there until they realize waiting isn’t going to work anymore.

Dot pulls themselves into their knees, clutching at their own limbs tightly as their head drops into their lap, and they snivel to themselves blubbery and meek as tears flow from puffy eyes. Bea’s not coming. She swore she would, but she’s not. She’s lost. Gone. Just like Kyle.

The only two people that actually _mean_ something to them, that they care for, love with every fiber of their being.

They’ve lost them both.

Dot wails into their arms, clutching their knees painfully tight as they sniffle and grovel, agonizing cries muffled in their lap as tears and snot flow down their face against their legs. They’re finally free at last, like they’ve always wanted - and what did it cost them?

Everything.

The ghost stays like that, sniveling to themselves until their voice grows so hoarse they can no longer make noise, until their head pounds so thick and painful their body just stops crying, and it’s nightfall once more until they finally move, lifting their head from their legs as they stare outwards with red, sunken orbs. Fingers reach to touch at the crystal around their neck while mist sways as they look toward their free hand, particles weaving and coming to life until they drop an item in their palm. A black feather, soft and thick, although a bit worn - and Dot feels the gentle down of the comforting piece, fondles the crystal between their fingers, eyeing them both with a mournful, yearning emotion in their hues - before rising to their feet with exhausted legs, forcing themselves upwards as they turn towards the light at the end of the alleyway, and with heavy limbs, move forward. Forward is where they must go. They won’t let either of their lives or sacrifices be in vain.

If Bea and Kyle can’t go on, then they’ll live for the both of them.

With slumping shoulders and wobbling legs, Dot steps out of the dark of the alley and into the light of the street.


End file.
